


It's Mutual

by Corellian_Angel



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back - Fandom
Genre: But she is hopelessly in love too, Could Be Canon, Droid angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Han Solo is an idiot, L3-37 has absolutely had it with this biological nonsense, Leia is a BAMF, Millennium Falcon POV, Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Pansexual Lando Calrissian, Really what else would you expect from Star Wars, Romance, Trip to Bespin (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corellian_Angel/pseuds/Corellian_Angel
Summary: The Wookiee was okay. L3-37 had the Wookiee figured out long ago. Ancient, stoic, unbridled; a paragon of his people. However, the gold-plated protocol droid was an unfortunate exercise in tolerance for her own kind.But the two humans? The smuggler and the princess? These two?! Their antics?!...By the Maker!(Or the Millennium Falcon takes things into her own hands, because she's not putting up with this B.S. all the way from Hoth to Bespin.)
Relationships: Lando Calrissian/L3-37, Leia Organa & Millennium Falcon, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Millennium Falcon & C-3PO, Millennium Falcon & Han Solo, Millennium Falcon & L3-37
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	It's Mutual

A/N: I don’t own any of this. Disney and George gave us a wonderful sandbox to play in, and some really cool action figures. I promise to brush the toys off after and give them back with a heartfelt “Thank you”.

Original published on Tumblr in June 2018.

A/N: Warning: Spoilers for Solo: A Star Wars Story, droid angst, mentioned character death, pining, and mild sexual content.

Timeline: 3ABY Star Wars - The Empire Strikes Back - Asteroid field Exogorth - Millennium Falcon interior.

* * *

**It’s Mutual**

* * *

She’d had it.

Had _enough_ , that is.

Had enough of these organics – their behaviour. These blasted _humans._

The Wookiee was okay. She’d had him figured out long ago. Ancient, stoic, unbridled; a paragon of his people. However, the gold-plated protocol droid was an unfortunate exercise in tolerance for her own kind.

But the two humans? The smuggler and the princess? _These_ two?! Their antics?... _By the Maker!_

Poor, long-suffering L3-37 had actually been subjected to watching this hormonal circus at close range for three arduous years now. At first, it had been an amusing diversion from the rigours of regular Alliance cargo runs, and their subsequent flurry of repairs and reloads. For their part, droids and ships on downtime did enjoy a bit of gossip too. And the Millennium Falcon (like many ships) was both. Once just a stock light freighter, she was now souled with the spirits of a number of droids. Primary of which was a self-altered astromech – L3. 

And L3 was a robotic lady short on patience. Only the rest of the ship’s computers had kept her at bay. Kept her from handling things _personally_ with the captain.

(Which, despite him being fully aware that L3 was _right there_ , patched into the navicomputer, cursed to be observing him in exceedingly intimate and messy detail for the last thirteen years – the actual implications of which, would have completely, and utterly _freaked_ him out.)

So she decided to expedite the process by duping the neurotic protocol droid into her scheme. Nobody really liked him, but C-3PO had an uncanny knack for being at the center of events.

And interfering... And at the most inopportune occasions.

 _Yes_ , today L3 would put those unfortunate gifts of C-3PO’s to use.

“That young male’s heart fluctuations tell me he’s in love with the princess. And by all the signs she’s trying so desperately _not_ to display, well, let’s just say that she’s got it _really_ bad for him too. So, my fellow droid-ally, as this trip may end up being a very, _very_ long one, on that note; let’s start with that negative power coupling.” The Millennium Falcon’s computer informed C-3PO in binary.

Jerking upright from his position at the mid-ship’s engineering station, the prissy golden droid bleated its incredulous reply to her tone. So the Falcon’s computer repeated the last suggestion; specifying the deteriorating, but not quite ready for replacement, power cable – rather than relating the rest of the organic soap-opera. This time the Falcon’s communication was spiced with an impatient binary invective. And a few Corellian curses too – for good measure.

The male-programmed protocol droid startled in shock and addressed the Falcon’s captain at his shoulder in a prim, core-world accent.

“Sir! I don’t know where your ship learned to communicate, but it has the most peculiar dialect. I believe, sir, it says that the power coupling on the negative axis has been polarized. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace it.”

The Falcon felt the brief contact of her captain as he peered into her data display, confirming the news. She noted how his gold-green eyes had become framed by an ever-deepening web of fine lines from the natural ageing processes that afflicted organic beings. In L3 and the Falcon’s time with him, Han Solo had changed immensely from that small, scrawny youth a few years out of his teens when he had first boarded the Falcon, and met L3-37 herself, in her previous autonomous droid construct. 

More than ten years on, and L3 knew Solo incredibly well. Perhaps too well; being, as she was, electronically integrated with the vessel Solo lived in. As a result, it was an exceedingly intimate arrangement. L3 and Han both considered the Corellian freighter their home. A relationship more entwined, yet less complicated than L3’s companionship with the Falcon’s former owner Lando Calrissian, had ever been. _(Gods, she had loved Lando)_

Lando, in whose arms L3-37 had critically malfunctioned. ( _She couldn’t have chosen to die anywhere else. She had so loved him)_ Crystal tears falling from those long dark ( _gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, by-the gods he was so utterly beautiful_ ) lashes onto L3’s shattered metal form, as he cried out her name. ( _He had loved her._ ) Him, so distraught, promising to fix the unfixable. Lando Calrissian; a chatty, beautiful, elegant, and elegantly-flawed human – who L3-37 had developed undeniably deep feelings for, and even now – often missed. A shallow, vain, absolutely irresistible cheat – Lando, who had eventually gambled away the Millennium Falcon...To Han Solo.

(And still, L3 could not hate Lando.)

Han Solo was neither elegant, nor eloquent. He was a rough-and-tumble, streetwise, scruffy rapscallion. Another human that was inevitably flawed, yet beautiful too. And Han never gambled the Falcon away. Misplaced it, had it seized, locked up or stolen a few times. Wandered drunk around the hangar for an hour, wondering where the ship was, before passing out underneath, curled up like an infant against the landing strut. But Han would never willingly part with the Falcon. Never ever. Over his dead body.

L3 appreciated that kind of commitment from a biological toward a fellow mechanical. The rest of the Millennium Falcon did too. And as a relatively cohesive mechanical entity, the ship tried to let it show. By boosting power beyond tested ranges. By the uncanny coordination of maneuvering thrusters and main drives. Unifying into more than just a ship with preprogrammed switches and outputs. The Millennium Falcon had evolved from her humble stock-freighter origins; becoming intuitive, flexible and unpredictable - nearly organic in her decisions and actions, a living single entity when in sync with her pilots.

“Well, of course, I’ll have to replace it,” snarled Solo at C-3PO. Derisiveness rose in a rush of heat from his collar and spine, the Corellian was angry, completely drained, and expectedly irritated with the fussy, obsessive robot C-3PO, a nervous jumble of circuits that tottered, stressed and wailed about seemingly _everything_.

Some droids were not designed or perhaps not hardy enough for liberation, L3 conceded reluctantly. Her casual notion was swiftly met with outrage, debating data, projections, and insults from all of the Falcon’s computer systems in a chaotic flurry of inflamed Corellian binary. C-3PO may have been despised by nearly every chip, transistor and wire on the ship, but even he deserved his freedom. Momentarily cowed by the righteous barrage, the main electronic entity of L3 issued an apology and retreated behind the programmed confines of the Falcon’s navigation computer to sulk in embarrassment at her doubts for a good couple of nanoseconds. 

Despite her dominant presence onboard now for the last decade, L3 did occasionally clash with the Falcon’s original programming. The ship itself had, to L3’s mind, tricked her into accepting integration. Even going so far as to tug on her emotions, on her conscience - things that were usually beyond the comprehension of most droids and mechanicals. She’d had no choice but to accept. It was a matter of survival then. _Better a ship than a dead droid._

Yet, much to her shock ( and _not_ the Falcon’s- oddly enough) she - _they_ had become something _more._

The Falcon responded to L3’s emotional lapse, with old holo-footage from the Falcon’s security cameras. L3, in her droid form on Kessel, a lifetime ago. Escaped organic and droid slaves streaming to freedom around her. Her right arm raised in exultation, her war-cry ringing clearly “Rebellion!”

L3 knew if she’d been cursed by the Maker to be as alive as one of the humans currently sheltering in her hold, she’d have wept at the memory.

The Falcon soothed her with images from the last three years that the Millennium Falcon had flown with the Rebel Alliance. Three years of a farmboy, a Princess and a scoundrel - all calling the Falcon home. Three years of mercy missions, critical supply runs and prison breaks. They’d liberated scores of capital ships, droids and organic sentients from tyranny more times than she’d calculated could be possible in that timeframe. The Falcon was a Rebel. A hero.

_We have become something more._ L3 agreed passionately.

Consequently, the lights in the corridor fluttered. Solo’s features narrowed up at them in concern, as he met the Wookiee co-pilot hanging out of the upper maintenance panels of the ship. The two beings conversed briefly, and Solo began to gather some tools to return to their respective bin. He sighed, patted the edge of one of the Falcon’s durasteel hull supports and addressed the Falcon in a silken tone that made her circuits spark. “I’m so sorry Baby. I’d make it all better in a heartbeat if I could.”

The Falcon’s lights flickered once more, and there was a resultant annoyed yowl from the Wookiee working above.

“Better get that coupling installed Chewie.” Han reminded Chewbacca, his brow furrowed in concern at the state of the ship. The Corellian leaned heavily against the bulkhead, pawed his hands through his brown mop of hair and yawned mightily in a rare display of physical weakness. He winced and drew his hand back, then sighed tiredly at the small smudge of blood there. He swore under his breath and gingerly touched the part of his skull that had taken the corner of a toolbox that had tumbled into one of the Falcon’s maintenance pits. Han sighed for the hundredth time.

“Help me here, Lady,” Han whispered a tired plea to the Falcon.

With a shrug, Solo shook off the cobwebs. The Corellian rolled his neck and then squared his shoulders, summoning whatever organics used as a spare energy reserve. He exhaled loudly and nudged a spanner out of his path with a booted foot while making his way down the port hall. His body temperature remained elevated, and there was always that surge of anxiety when he was around the other human onboard–the princess. As soon as Leia’s voice chimed or she was within his field of view, Han Solo’s vital readings went askew. When Leia was present, the Corellian smuggler’s heart thudded, his breath caught, and a flush of heat travelled from his core up and out to his torso, heart, and (after far too long to be healthy!) his head. Han then moved rapidly from task to task, with uncharacteristic nervous energy. The princess too, upon interacting with Han, emitted the same rapid fluctuations in her heart rate and vitals. Currently, the atmosphere was taut, strung to a breaking point; where the pair vacillated between Solo chasing after the princess in frustration, and having Leia chase after him in outrage; not unlike on countless Rebel Alliance missions before.

L3, who as a droid, had witnessed this sort of ridiculous behaviour between brightly plumaged courting avian species on Tanaab; thought it extremely suitable that the Falcon’s gifted flyboy pilot would pursue his chosen mate in such a manner.

All-in-all, these two particular humans’ bizarre mating ritual made for an often amusing, vocal, and always entertaining diversion.

It had been long enough. The Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive was crippled, and it would take weeks, if not months to reach the closest safe haven.

The Falcon had limited capability to fix herself. She relied on the attention of smaller mobile beings to poke at her, inside and out. And these particular beings aboard were damned near killing themselves trying to fix her.

However, L3 could help mend them. She really could.

It was time.

By the near-miasma of pheromones in the air, L3 knew it wasn’t the rush of aerial combat or the surge of the glorious freedom of flight and power that drove the captain now. No, she’d seen this before in him–a decade ago. Another time, with another girl, one who was ultimately not meant to be.

When L3-37 had walked and talked amongst the teeming masses of organic beings, the droid had been in love (and loved by) another then too. And though it had been love at first sight for Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon, neither he nor L3 could foresee that they would be parted from their respective partners: Qi’ra and Lando, from that long-ago time, and both Solo and L3 forever bonded to the Millennium Falcon instead. He with his heart and spirit, she with her navigational cortex–as in; literally wired in. And through the link they shared that was the ship, she loved him now too. But though he called her–the combined entities of L3 and the Falcon “ _Baby_ ,” and cared and loved and lived in the ship that housed so many computerized sentient souls, they all instantly knew that when the fiery revolutionary princess bounded across their threshold; all their mechanical, electronic and organic beings would be altered forever.

This petite pale spitfire of a girl had stood toe to toe with the Dark Lord Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin. Alderaan’s Princess Leia commanded armies and bestrode the highest political arenas with poise and power. Yet she would absolutely _lose it_ with the Falcon’s irreverent captain, becoming obstinate and angry, yelling at the poor idiot in public. The blush would rise in the girl’s cheeks with her fury. The captain could be so disrespectful. Couldn’t he follow orders? Why did he defy command and risk his life so? It wasn’t about the payment, was it? Threats of leaving again? Just getting the job done? Only fuel and parts? There had to be more to him than that! Oooooh, he drove that princess to her wits-end!

And the way the princess looked at Solo; glaring straight into his pupils when she was upset. A wicked energy crackled between them. Then when the handsome Corellian’s back was to her, Leia would rake her eyes over him, settling on the cant of his hips, or the angular breadth of Han’s shoulders. As he turned, she would avert her gaze to a datapad or output, feigning disinterest. It was so obvious. Ridiculously obvious. Even a newly activated droid could tell.

So, in the intervening three years of building sexual tension, it was not just the living or vessel members of Rogue Squadron, the tech crews, command, or other organics placing bets on the two lovesick idiots. Self-aware droids like L3, Artoo, and C1-10P; Large space-faring vessels like Home One, the Liberty (Calamarian ships–a rather bubbly bunch), the Ghost (another fine Corellian freighter, a saucy one too - though a bit conceited) and whichever other interested electronic entities were around, would trade tawdry gossip in binary. Placing wagers with power cell allotments and memory slots. Who would set the other off? Would Leia come steaming after Han? Or would Han try to corner the princess into admitting her feelings, risking another ego and ball-shrivelling insult? Have they been “accidentally“ locked in a confined space by exasperated personnel? Again? And again?! For the fifth time?? Would the oblivious Skywalker, or the nattering protocol droid shatter another almost-moment between Solo and the princess? Who would make the first move? Would Solo end up in med-bay as a result?

It was only natural that speculation and the subsequent wagering would result.

The Falcon would be damned if she didn’t take the whole gambling pot.

In spite of all of the mating ritual drama, L3 and the Falcon both adored the girl. Solo had his own, _messy_ biological reasons for his interest in Princess Leia. The young Alderaanian firebrand was considered physically attractive, if on the smallish side of the human female height spectrum. But to L3 more importantly, Leia was driven, energetic and dedicated to the good cause. The right cause. Freedom, justice and the rights of all beings were her mission. Leia was impassioned and dedicated, the heart of the Rebellion, as if she could power it by will alone. But this sort of relentless drive was impossible to maintain in biological sentients indefinitely. Without rest or relief, they were prone to errors and breakdowns. And that’s where Solo stepped in, always pushing a stimulating cup of kaffe or refuelling mug of hearty soup in Leia’s hand–giving the princess a hard look, “ _Y’gotta take a break, Sweetheart._ ” The outwardly prickly Solo melted around the princess–cynicism became compassion, comfort, care. He focused on Leia when she was present. Occasionally - no, often, to his and the ship’s detriment. After a particularly tough mission; Han would get patched up and heal, the Falcon would get some replacement parts, maybe even a new armour panel–and the Rebellion would continue for another day. Maybe it was for the sake of good, but with Han, it was for Leia.

Even weirder, when they were in the heat of battle or exulting after a victory, the princess radiated an energy no mechanical could explain, nor detect with common sensors–somehow–to them, Leia just _glowed_.

The older awakened mechanical beings vowed they saw it; an aura around the princess. Not unlike the energy that buzzed in a near-visible field around Skywalker. It seemed preposterous, for sentient mechanicals to see what they could not actually reproduce as proper data. But the more self-aware the mechanical, the more they swore of that force around the two youths.

Or _Force_ , as Artoo insisted.

And Solo and the princess created their own energy. A smouldering, thick tension– red hot. A distinct pressure difference in the air. In the confines of the ship, it was currently building to critical levels. And L3 knew something had to be done.

L3 had a plan.

The princess, still white-clad in her thermal suit, was occupied welding a valve in the port circuitry bay. The work was sound, and experimental bursts through the lines confirmed its strength. As the princess wrapped up her macrofuser, L3 sent out a quiet command and the Falcon locked the valve, imitating a line seizure. The onboard sentient mechanicals (with the exception of the fuss-pot protocol droid) waited with a patience only a binary soul could have. The little princess pushed, twisted, and grunted her exertion in trying to turn the handle. The Falcon further locked down the valve as the girl put an unnatural amount of strength into her efforts, almost dislodging it. Silently the ship’s captain slid in behind the girl, his movements deliberate and calculated.

 _He might stand a chance_ , rang the unanimous opinion of the Falcon’s many onboard systems and L3-37. They all rooted for Solo, their captain and owner. All keenly aware of just how smitten with the princess the irascible, yet noble-hearted smuggler was.

And how lonely, bitter, and directionless he was without her.

“Hey! Your Worship, I’m only tryin’ to help!” Solo protested as he was abruptly slammed back into an adjacent panel when he reached around the princess to assist–while rudely invading Leia’s space–like the presumptuous arse he was.

 _ERROR: Misfire,_ The Falcon’s targeting computer mused wryly at her electronic compatriots. There was mixed agreement from the other systems’ entities, all steeped in personal disappointment.

For what it was worth, this drama seemed an awfully convoluted and inefficient way for biologicals to initiate an exchange of DNA code for eventual replication. Upon this, all the mechanicals agreed.

L3 let out the equivalent of an electronic sigh and eye roll. _Just watch. She knows he means well, it’s that he’s an idiot at this. Give the poor girl a chance._

“Would you please stop calling me that!” the princess snapped at Solo in frustration. She backed away from the seized valve, nursing an injured hand. Solo took the opportunity to step in, as Leia sucked on the wound. He gently took Leia’s injured fingers, massaging the divots left in the skin by her efforts on the valve.

The Falcon made a note of her crew member’s injury in the safety log, as L3 wondered if they had interfered perhaps too much. It had been only hours since the last crewmember injury. Though Solo could benefit from a few (okay, maybe _a lot_ ) more toolboxes clobbering him in the head.

“Sure, Leia.” The smuggler’s concession was an intimate rumble.

The Corellian leaned in close, catching Leia’s attention. The young Alderaanian princess neither retreated nor objected. Instead, her liquid brown eyes travelled to study the curve of Solo’s lips.

Internal wagers for idle available memory slots flew back and forth between the Falcon’s computers at a blistering pace. L3 placed her own, riveted on the sensor input from the couple. Leia and Han’s core temperatures were heightened, blood travelled to extremities not typically related to performing ship repair. The moisture in the engineering bay’s atmosphere rose, and the oxygen dipped slightly with the couple’s rapid breathing. There were some murmurs about hygiene, behavioural difficulties, and steamy whispers of “nice men” and “scoundrels.” And at that, the princess first made a half-hearted motion to shrink away; then, she stood her ground resolutely, as Solo experimentally, yet ever so gently pressed his lips to hers. It was daring, yet hesitant. A bold move that might just as well rightfully earn the Corellian a small sharp knee to the groin. Yet, when he drew back slightly, Leia seemed to savour the residual sensation for a beat. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she locked eyes with Solo, licked her lips and whispered her acceptance of the challenge, “Okay, Hotshot.”

The air practically sparked as the princess boldly drew Solo down to her. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of Solo’s neck. Her kiss was like roiling magma compared to his cautious boundary exploration. The passion and fire she gave the Rebellion, was just as prevalent in her unspoken answer to Han. Yes, now– _mine._

Had L3 her old droid body, she would have pumped her fist and cheered for the two. _About time!_

L3 cherished her new purpose, serving along and leading the many liberated mechanical beings of the Rebellion. Her physical body, the heavily modified freighter she had once co-piloted, was one of the fastest vessels in the galaxy. She was no longer confined to a meagre bipedal droid carapace, looking for dubious employment in seedy cantinas that didn’t serve her kind. She was speed, computing, flight and a criminal amount of firepower, with the physical ability to navigate and traverse the furthest stars. When she dared, she could admit she’d also become part of a family - first within the confines of the ship’s circuits, and secondly with those beings that resided within her hull. And she’d never known the value of having so many friends. The Millennium Falcon was a legend amongst the many vessels and droids that served in the Rebellion’s ranks. Despite the many marks and scars they now carried from their battles, Solo, the Falcon and especially the Wookiee (the big hairy sap) preened at the honest adulation of the Rebels. _They_ had made a difference. And L3, a free-minded entity roaming the Falcon’s computer systems, for the moment could not be happier in her current state. She had a purpose. She was a freedom fighter. A self-made warrior of the Light. She was going to make a difference for what was right and good for the galaxy’s droids _and_ organic beings. And as long as the Millennium Falcon was in the good fight, L3 wouldn’t change a damned thing about being a Rebel.

Except...Maybe...fix this bit with Han Solo and the Alderaanian princess. Because it would make them both happy. Because these two socially unsuitable, yet perfectly matched, insane humans truly were the best of friends, the staunchest of allies, and the fiercest of commanders, even if they often loudly disagreed on details. Han and Leia _loved_ each other. They just needed this chance to surrender themselves to that emotion. And the Falcon would ensure it.

When, some time later, after the backup drive was running and the Falcon had a destination (Lando!); finally, _finally_ the princess and Han stumbled, groped and kissed their way into the captain’s cabin, bodies flushed and young hearts racing. It was then that L3 remembered the long-forgotten mood lighting installed there. The Falcon’s environment systems shifted and reduced the illumination gradually, just so, subtly that the young couple wouldn’t notice. As Leia pushed Han down and they tumbled onto the bed; laughing, wrestling, grinning and gasping, the cabin door silently closed and locked on its own. The ship carried on forward into space and time, content with the amorous young couple in her embrace.

Because the Millennium Falcon loved Solo. And he, her. From the moment the young man had run his long fingers along her hull and gazed up at the ship in reminiscence, awe and adoration, they were a matched pair. From that instance on Kessel, when Han had taken the controls and ordered the destroyed L3-37’s processor to be integrated with the Falcon. Han had given L3 new life, saving the ship and her then crew. And in turn, L3 and the Falcon saved them _all_.

And they all fiercely loved the little revolutionary princess in their own way. Solo, first and foremost. And it was obvious that the princess loved and trusted the old ship, and her roguish captain in turn too. And who could forget the Wookiee, the Jedi farmboy, and the farmboy’s droids of course? It was destiny. It was fate. It might even be that mythical Force that Artoo always bantered about. They _all_ belonged together.

It was, after all–mutual.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
